


Write your way into my heart

by HoneyBeeez



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: College AU, M/M, PNAU, PunkNerdAU, coran's the professor lol, dont know if the PNAU stuff has been played with for klance yet but i am weak for it, keith and pidge just need the credit, lance loves writing, theyre taking a creative writing course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 01:26:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9944258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoneyBeeez/pseuds/HoneyBeeez
Summary: Lance loves writing. Keith doesn't really understand. Pidge just wants them to shut up.(A college creative writing class AU + PNAU because i can)





	

**Author's Note:**

> the title is supposed to be a loose Hamilton reference, it's three in the morning, i was supposed to be working on homework, and this is born and unedited. godspeed.

“You’re in my seat.”

“Uhm, excuse me? It’s only the second day of class, buddy, you don’t…” Lance says, a smile playing on his lips as he turns from Pidge and looks at who he’s talking to. The guy has piercings trailing up the shells of his ears and a small stud in his lip, his leather vest screams _test me_ , and his squint-and-scowl combo makes his stomach bottom out and his eyes slightly bulge.

And he has a _mullet_. How did an asshole like him make it _here_?

“I don’t, _what_?” the guy seethes, snarling a little as he speaks, pushing closer to get in Lance’s face.

“You don’t have to be so _rude_ ,” Lance immediately recedes, pushing his thick-framed glasses higher on the bridge of his nose before getting to his feet. “Sorry, Pidge, I think I’ll just go sit over _there_ ,” he says, jerking his head to the other side of the small classroom.

When he situates himself on the other side of the rectangular-table-formation, he finds that Pidge and this… _guy_ are talking like they’ve been best friends since forever. Lance doesn’t even remember _seeing_ him the first day of class. It kind of pisses him off.

When the professor walks in, it’s like everything melts away, though. Sure, the guy is eccentric, to say the least, with his bright orange hair, bushy mustache, and weird-uncle-like behavior, but it’s nice. Everything falls away, most importantly the existence of _that guy_ who’s only on the other side of the room, and everything delves into the world of fiction.

Lance can’t help but marvel in the fact that every good piece of writing _ever_ came from someone who was like him, once. It gives him hope. They read story after story, and Lance raises his hand to narrate almost every passage. The words slip out of his mouth, almost like they were meant for him to read them, and he can’t help the way he smiles a little. Every word has meaning, every word is beautiful.

When the professor gives them a prompt, Lance writes a page when it’s only supposed to be half that. His hand flies across the page, words flowing out from his pencil almost as quick as the words pop into his head. He rereads and rereads, and he hopes it sounds beautiful, hopes that, with time, he can be studied in a college creative writing class one day, too.

When class is over, when the daze breaks and reality of his other classes crashes all around him, he looks up and finds that the leather-jacket-piercings-guy is staring at him. All Lance does his scowl, fix his glasses, and stomps out of the classroom.

* * *

 

“I just want to know if it’s a reasonable thing to write about in five pages or less, that’s all,” Lance says, lounging back in his chair and surveying Pidge as they pretend to mull his idea over.

“You know I’m just taking that class because I need it as a requirement, right?” Pidge says, going back to their computer and typing what probably is another string of code. “I’m not good at this writing stuff. You’re the one for that.”

“But I’m asking you if it’s possible- No, I’m asking if it would be interesting, or if it would be too much for five pages,” Lance says, putting his head on their shoulder, and they put up with it for about a second before they shrug him off.

“If you want to create a world about an evil alien dominion in less than five pages, go for it,” Pidge says, almost sounding bored, “but if anyone could pull it off, it would be you.”

“Aw, thanks Pidgey,” Lance coos, and when he turns back to his laptop, he cracks his fingers and opens up a new Word document. “This is going to be great. Will major editing me necessary? Yes, yes it will, but it’s going to be _perfect_ -”

“What’re you talking about?” someone says, and when Lance looks up, he almost launches himself out of his chair.

“Oh, hey Keith,” Pidge says, barely looking up from their computer. The chair in front of the guy nudges out a little, probably due to Pidge kicking it from under the table, and he takes it as an invitation.

“What’re _you_ doing here?” Lance hisses as the guy, _Keith_ , he hates how friendly Pidge is with him, sits down across from him.

“I told him he could come study with us,” Pidge says easily, giving him a glance, and Lance can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“You _what_?” Lance shouts, and Pidge kicks him under the table.

“We’re in a library.”

“It’s not like it’s a crime,” Keith says, shucking off his leather jacket and letting it fall across the back of his chair. His edgy, skin-tight, black band shirt underneath doesn’t make this situation any better.

“With you around, I’m sure there will be,” Lance mutters, trying his hardest to focus on starting his story.

“What was that?” Keith says lowly, squinting at him.

“You heard me,” Lance replies easily.

“Guys, c’mon.”

“You look like you could be a criminal.”

“You’re just intimidated by me.”

“You may look like you piss on puppies for a living, but I’m more intimidated by Pidge without their third cup of coffee.”

“You’re gonna regret that-”

“ _Enough_.” Pidge breaks up their little argument before it can explode, and Lance doesn’t know if he’s thankful for it or not. “I didn’t invite the both of you so you would bicker, I did it so I could see my friends and get out of my dorm this weekend so _please_ , knock it off.” Pidge meets both of their eyes before giving their attention back onto their computer, and with a heavy reluctance, Lance tries to start his story once more.

He hates the fact that Keith is considered one of Pidge’s friends, but if it matters to the so much, he guesses he could stop fighting with him for an afternoon.

* * *

 

“Lance.”

He stops right as he’s about to dart out of the building at the sound of his name. He has to get to class in ten minutes, dammit, he doesn’t have _time_ for this.

“What?” he snaps back, turning on his heel only to be met with a scowl and a frustratingly fitting leather jacket.

“Hurry, much?” Keith questions, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms coolly over his chest.

“I’ve got class in ten, so whatever you got to say, _spit it out_ ,” Lance says through grit teeth. He pushes out of the building to get out of the way of other people who want to get in, and Keith frustratingly follows.

“Fine,” Keith says, leaning against one of the architecturally amazing columns that make up the outside edge of the building. “Workshop my piece.”

“What?” Lance snorts, rolling his eyes at the delinquent-looking guy. “Me? Help you? Like that’ll end well.”

“Pidge says you’re good at this kind of stuff,” Keith says, shrugging.

“And you need all the help you can get, I take it?” Lance quips, and Keith’s neutral expression shifts back into a scowl. Lance laughs at that. He’s gotten his rise out of Keith for the day, he’s going to be late for his other class, and he knows Keith won’t leave him alone until he agrees. He exhales heavily. “Fine, I’ll help you. Get my number from Pidge. We’ll work something out.”

It’s all he says before he shrugs his backpack higher onto his shoulders, fixes his glasses and his collar, and speedwalks away.

* * *

 

“I still don’t know why we have to do this in a coffee shop,” Keith mutters, leaning moodily over the tabletop. Lance barely spares him a glance as he takes a sip of his latte and starts reading Keith’s story.

“Aesthetic, Keith, I thought you would understand that much,” Lance says bluntly, lacing his fingers together and using them to prop his chin up as he scans the lines on his screen.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Keith challenges, and Lance can’t help but rise to the bait.

“You literally look like you’re going to pop in some headphones and listen to some Linkin Park, are you kidding me?” Lance remarks, raising an eyebrow at him before going back to reading. In the first couple sentences, Lance knows exactly where this story is going to go. It’s almost too easy. “I can’t believe you wrote a love story.”

“Coran said to go out of your comfort zone!” Keith defends, color rising on his cheeks and his voice rising a little too high so that it’s audible over the horrible café music in the background.

“Yeah, but just because the professor says something, doesn’t mean you have to do it.” Lance almost smirks at Keith’s misfortunes. “It’s not like Coran _knows_ your comfort zone in the first place.”

“You’re annoying,” Keith settles to say after a second, and Lance laughs.

It doesn’t take too long to read, but when he reaches the end of the story, he sits back in his chair, sips his latte, and thinks. Keith puts up with it for a couple moments before snapping.

“Well?”

“It’s two-dimensional,” Lance says, almost like it’s obvious. Keith gives him a look. “You’re telling too much. ‘ _They held hands, they did this. They kissed under the moonlight on Valentine’s Day_.’ It’s too cliché.”

“You’re not a professional critic, you know that, right?”

“There’s no _emotion_. I don’t understand the main character at all at the end of it.” Lance pauses, and when he sees Keith’s almost-dejected looking expression, it almost breaks his heart. His small pout and doubtful eyes don’t match his piercings and leather. “Haven’t you ever been in love before?”

“What’s _that_ got to do with any of this?” Keith says, an edge to his voice.

“Writing is all about… capturing emotion on a page,” Lance says gently. “But we everyone knows what it’s like to be happy or sad, so telling them directly isn’t any fun. So you have to show them instead and make them decide what to take it as.”

“What?” Keith asks slowly.

“Okay,” Lance sighs. “How do you know a grossly-in-love couple you see on the street is grossly-in-love?” Keith scrunches up his face, and its almost like he’s biting back a cutting remark the way he looks away from him.

“Uh, they hold hands?” Keith answers. And Lance nods. Before Keith can react, Lance plops his hand on top of his, holding in in the middle of the café table.

“And?” Lance asks as Keith gapes at him.

“They… they look at each other and smile,” Keith goes on. Lance smiles as warmly as he can at him, softening his eyes and weaving his fingers in between Keith’s. He’s so going to regret this, but he nods to encourage Keith to continue. “They kiss,” he says softly, and before Keith can pull back, Lance leans over the table and gets their faces as close as possible.

“Then write _that_.” The words come out lower than he intends them to, and as he moves back to sit normally, he can’t help but marvel at the way Keith reddens. “It’s no fun if you don’t leave anything up to interpretation.”

* * *

 

They sit in the coffee shop for at least an hour after that. Keith types furiously, like he wants to punch out all the keys on his laptop with his fingertips alone, but he seems like he’s found himself a breakthrough, so Lance doesn’t judge.

When they finally leave, it’s when the late-afternoon crowd starts to swarm into the coffee shop. They pack up their things and leave almost immediately. It’s a mostly quiet walk towards their dorms.

“You know, Pidge is right,” Keith says after a second. Lance gives him a sidelong glance. “You are pretty good at this writing stuff.”

“Been doing it for a while,” Lance says with a shrug. “But wow, a genuine compliment from a boy that looks like he can punch my face in? I’m flattered.” He plays it up, pressing a hand to his chest and smiling dramatically like he almost won an award.

“You’re way into theatrics,” Keith remarks, rolling his eyes. “No wonder you did all that weird shit back there.”

“You mean the hand-holding stuff?” Lance asks, snorting a little. “I did that as an example. You can’t just… write actions without emotions behind them. That gives you like, half the story. What’s really interesting is the stuff you feel, not the stuff you see.”

“Right,” Keith says, stopping at the corner of the street. Lance stands next to him almost awkwardly. Their paths branch off from here, and Lance is just confused on what to say. It’s too early to say goodnight, but too weird to say any pleasantry at all, and he really wants to make fun of Keith’s blush when he did all that touchy stuff back at the coffee shop but the only insult he can think of is that it was _adorable_.

Before he can break out of his thoughts, Keith’s leaning in and pressing a light kiss to the seam of his lips.

“I guess I have to leave more up to interpretation,” Keith whispers, not moving away just yet as he smirks at Lance’s blown-wide eyes, but when he does move, he walks away, doesn’t say anything more and doesn’t look back.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!!!! you're amazing!!!  
> please stop by and tell me what you think!! any and all comments and suggestions are welcome!  
> I'm hijackedhoneybeeez on tumblr, come say hi, and know that you're loved and awesome and in for better days soon!  
> -HB


End file.
